


Five Times Coulson Woke Skye Up (And Two Times Skye Woke Him Up)

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coulson and his Daddy Issues, Coulson's record player, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Morning Sex, Secret Relationship, Skye is the Best Thing Ever, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2739920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.</p><p>Inspired by Coulson waking Skye up so gently in 2x09.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Coulson Woke Skye Up (And Two Times Skye Woke Him Up)

**i.**

She's asleep, cheek resting on her hand, in the middle of the common room, curled into herself on the leather couch.

He's missed the image of Skye around the Playground but this is not the usual.

The mission was finished quite late and she is still wearing her field clothes, and has fallen asleep while pouring over the prep files for the next mission, not missing a beat apparently. Her mission suit is different these days, no more juvenile spike studs on the gloves. But she doesn't look like May or Bobbi either.

Coulson walks to her side and touches his fingertips to her elbow.

Skye wakes up with a start, her body reacting before she does, almost poised for combat.

He looks at her face in tension. He looks at her face a lot these days, because he finds it strange, different. Because he went such a long time without seeing it. She has gotten sharper, fiercer, sadder, again, in the meantime.

"I'm sorry," she says, rubbing her eyes and returning to a proper position.

"Don't apologize for falling asleep at two in the morning," he says. "You've been working too hard this week."

He's been meaning to say this for a bit but he guessed the right thing to do by her is let her find her own pace. It still hasn't come to the point where he has to intervene, as her boss, even though he is giving her more room to move than he would normally do his other agents. 

Skye shrugs, letting him sit by her side on the couch. Saying: "I have a lot to make up for."

He feels himself frowning without meaning to. He has wanted to talk to her about this too.

They haven't discussed it either and it's been between them, not like an elephant in the room, but like a silent presence in all their conversations. He's been shy about it, which Coulson now understand was a mistake. Skye probably has taken his silence to mean he resents her too.

"No one blames you for leaving, Skye," he says, when he should have said it earlier, as soon as she came back. "We all understand."

What he means is: I understand, I don't blame you. The months of Skye's absence have been hard for him personally, but that's on him, not Skye. Letting her find her own pace is fine but he is not here to watch her go through a self-imposed martyrdom she does not deserve. For some reason he touches her arm again.

"I couldn't stay," she says, and she has said this to him before, but her voice is weaker now, like she is beginning to have doubts. "After everything, my father, Ward, after what happened to... everybody. I needed... I didn't feel like I could stay."

Her hands curled around her knees, white-knuckled.

Coulson knows she's not looking for him to tell her she's wrong. But this _is Skye_ , of course she was going to feel like she abandoned the people who needed her, people who were grieving. Someone like Skye must find it hard to live with the idea of having abandoned anyone.

He nods. "But you're back with us now and you need to rest if you are to help the team properly."

She nods back.

Coulson realizes his fingers are still wrapped around her upper arm. He lets them slip slowly. He doesn't think he has touched her since she came back two weeks ago. He doesn't know why he needed to but he did need it, hoping she did as well.

Skye gives him a tiny, hopeful smile.

"Well, you're the one who woke me up."

 

 

**ii.**

When he comes back to his office he hears the soft sound of the record spinning on when the needle has already finished its job. Skye has let the record end. When Coulson comes back to his office he notices this first, a certain eeriness in the sound, but a certain comfort too. Or maybe it's just that it's raining outside and both those noises mix well. An autumnesque charm, one might say. He notices this before he notices Skye, asleep on his chair, asleep at his desk. Skye in the morning, how she's resumed that habit from before she left, working early in his office and going through his record collection at the same time. Skye in the morning with an old flannel shirt, the ends of her hairs still damp from the shower, Skye smelling like this.

He walks to his desk and his agent training makes him touch the mug of coffee on it. Cold. She must have been sleeping for a little bit.

Coulson watches her face a moment. She looks a lot better these days, more well-rested and healthier, and her eyes are only sometimes darkened by the images of death and destruction she still somehow thinks were her fault.

He's happy about it, about her being happier. Something very warm spreads through his chest at seeing her like this, in some badly needed peace, some well-earned peace, her features relaxed like that. But he doesn't want to stare, he knows how wrong it is to watch people sleep. He regrets having to wake her, but this is not the most comfortable position and she might hurt her back or neck. He goes to shake her shoulder gently but for some reason he doesn't, the gesture changes at the last minute – Coulson watches his own hand like he is watching someone else do it – and instead he brushes two fingers across Skye's cheek.

She stirs awake almost immediately, almost as soon as Coulson's fingertips pull away from her face.

"Okay, okay," she mutters.

"Sleeping on the job?"

Skye doesn't answer immediately, nor does she change position. She sinks further into Coulson's chair like it's the most comfortable place in the world to her and turns her head to look at the windows. The rain falls loudly, the whole room is early-morning dim and dark. But Skye's face softens when she looks at the day and her mouth curls into a smile for a moment.

"Had a pretty hardcore May session this morning," Skye explains.

"I figured."

Her gaze focuses, finally, on Coulson. An inquiring expression on her face, but she seems amused by something.

"Did you just–?" Skye starts.

"What?"

"Did you just wake me up by caressing my cheek ever so gently?" she asks. "Because I hardly think that's SHIELD protocol, boss."

He stares at her for a moment.

He wants to tell her that he's sorry and he didn't mean to be inappropriate. But that's not what he is really thinking.

"I haven't been your boss for some time now," he tells her.

She looks back at him with a bit of hurt in her eyes, like he is rejecting her in some capacity when he actually means the opposite.

"That's not true," Skye argues. "I've been back for months now. I've been... working, trying."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh."

"I didn't mean it like a bad thing," he adds. "Just that things are changing. It was meant to be a compliment."

He doesn't feel Skye's role in SHIELD or his life is the one she had before leaving. He hasn't felt like that for a while. He hasn't felt like he can just simply go back and treat her like before. It doesn't have to be something negative.

Skye nods quietly, like she understands what Coulson means by that, or if she doesn't understand it at least she accepts his version. She stretches in her seat – his chair – and settles again. She looks at her computer, considering.

"Do you want to take the day off?" Coulson asks her. "Go back to bed?"

She shakes her head.

"I'm okay," she says, grabbing the laptop and placing it closer to her on the desk. Then she looks at Coulson once more, asking, "Could you put the music on again?"

"Of course."

Music fills the air in a moment, but the rain goes on, almost drowning Bill Evans out.

Coulson takes a look over his shoulder as he opens the door but Skye is no longer aware of his presence, she is pouring over her casefiles, focused, drinking cold coffee.

 

 

**iii.**

Her noises are not loud.

In fact it takes Coulson a moment, even though already awake, to process he's really hearing them instead of dreaming the whole thing. He sits up in bed first, trying to locate their origin. These little, hitched whimpers, like somebody is having trouble breathing. Then he remembers he's sharing a hotel room with Skye and he realizes who's making those sounds.

"Skye?"

No reply.

He climbs out of his own bed and walks to her side. The room is small and something about Skye's hopeless pleading with her own subsconscious fill the air in a creepy fashion. It's worse when he can see her face, and he can barely see her face. She is moving in her sleep, a little, turning, her shoulders trembling.

"Skye..." he calls again, softly, unsure if he should pulled her out of a nightmare by force.

He sits on her bed, with care. She turns on her back, one hand twisted into the sheets. 

Coulson squeezes her elbow.

That seems to do the trick.

He doesn't startle her, neither does she wake up immediately. She does it by degrees, until Coulson finds himself stared at, in the half-darkness, from the pillow, those big eyes always looking for an answer.

"Did I –?" she asks.

"Yes."

He turns the night light on, giving her a minute to recover.

Skye draws her hand over her face for a moment, a flash of a very specific kind of tiredness, and one Coulson knows well. Sweat over her upper lip. He knows that too.

"I should have told you a twin room was a bad idea," she says, trying to smile. It's a bad attempt.

"It's okay," he assures her. "Do you have them often?"

She shakes her head. "Not often. When he's on the loose..."

They both look down. The motel room is too tiny. The country feels unsafe every turn they take, even though they are the ones doing the hunting. Sometimes they forget. They think they are the ones being pursued. Sometimes out here Coulson feels like he is being followed, and that he and Skye are running away, and they have to look over their shoulders in hotel receptions and diners, and he has to pulled her into safety and anominity. Like they are hiding. Sometimes he feels they've been doing this for years – that this is what they do, rooms like this, and hours on the road, and who knows how many nightmares he will never know about because this is the first time thye've shared a room – when it's only been a handful of days.

"I can't do this anymore," Skye tells him. "It's always the same: we search for Ward, we find Ward, Ward escapes, he hurts people, and the cycle starts again. I can't do it once more."

Coulson puts his hand on her shoulder, softly rubbing down her arm. Her body feels hot, almost unnaturally hot. 

Her fingers move from the bedsheets to Coulson's undershirt, twist into the fabric, but they don't tug.

He pulls Skye into an embrace, not waiting for her to ask. He cover her with his whole body and she curls into his, hiding. They were hiding, he was right.

Skye clings to him tightly. Almost _too_ tightly, actually.

"Ouch," he says, grabbing at his side.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," he says, checking the dressings on the wound are fine. He's okay, it's been a couple of weeks, but gunshot wounds are tricky sometimes and he's not as resilent as he used to, it will take a bit for the discomfort to go away. He smiles at Skye. "Be careful."

He chuckles.

And then he puts his arms around her again, just like before, but gentler.

This is nice, he thinks, and Skye must have the same idea because she lets out a pleased noise into his neck.

They have never hugged for this long. Not long enough that he can feel Skye breathing against his collarbone and can start anticipating every breath. She brings her lips above the collar of his t-shirt. Deliberatedly. Coulson waits to see if she does it again before reacting. She does. And then she moves up to his neck, and his jaw, and his – 

Her mouth is hot too. Coulson kisses her back.

Things have been changing between them. He didn't use to think about Skye like this, but the summer without her and her new role in his life since she's come back have had an effect on him. The way she's able to lead missions now, her independence, have left Coulson room to explore his feelings. Things have been changing, and the change had come even quicker since he got shot.

And being here on the road, chasing Ward, this kind of forced but welcome closeness, it has precipitated things.

"Skye," he calls, tearing his mouth from Skye's still-hungry mouth. It pains him to do so, but then again, he's been lonely for a long time. "Can you stop a moment?"

"God I'm sorry," she says, her body moving away from Coulson's arms. He doesn't hold her tighter but he leaves his hands on her elbows. "I didn't mean – it's a comfort thing."

He doesn't believe her for a moment, and something in Skye's face tells him she knows. She looks away.

"No, don't get me wrong," Coulson tells her. "I'd just rather we do this another time."

She looks up.

"Uh? You do?"

She sounds surprised. Why shouldn't she be? Coulson couldn't tell the precise moment he had changed in Skye's eyes, either, only that it was a while ago. If she asked he couldn't tell her when she had changed. Just that she did.

"But it wouldn't feel right tonight. You've just woken up from a nightmare. You're scared."

"He doesn't scare me," she says.

"I know. But you're not scared for yourself."

Blood on her hands. He knows that's how Skye sees it. Every time Ward hurts someone it's just more blood on her hands. He's her responsibility.

She lets Coulson go. Her hands slip from where they were twisted into his t-shirt.

"You can go back to your bed now. I don't think I'll be having any more nightmares tonight. Nice dreams, maybe," she says, touching her thumb to her lips distractedly.

He takes that tease, that humble promise and does as she tells him.

That's not what he wants, of course. He wants to stay in her bed and hold her, comfort her, guard her sleep. Maybe kiss her again later, in the morning. But he's too much of a coward so he climbs back into his own bed and turns the lights off and tells Skye "Remember I'm here if you need me" and he hopes that's enough.

 

 

**iv.**

But she was having the sweetest nap, why is he running his hand along her back, tenderly but in a clear attempt to pull her from her slumber? She's warm and comfortable and safe and though she knows she owes all those things to him she still sort of really regrets Coulson when he interrupts.

Her eyes flutter open for a moment and then, letting out a growly, disagreeing noise, she closes them again.

"Skye, wake up," Coulson pleads with her.

"What? _Why_?"

"You're sort of... cuddling me."

So she is. She has the vague idea they were working together on something, on the couch, and she fell asleep on him.

"What's wrong with cuddling you?"

"We're in the middle of the plane," he points out. "I think you have forgotten."

His voice is a bit on the spooked side. Does he really fear the rest finds out and consider this improper, inappropriate or just plain weird? She hasn't been doing this with him long enough that she has gotten to the bottom of his insecurities, his boundaries, yet. He's her boss. She knows this. She shouldn't be holding him in a common area like this.

"Mmm, you and your rules. I don't like them."

She turns, so that her face is pressed against his stomach now, knees against the back of the couch. Coulson freezes, not knowing what to do with this rebellion. He told her to wake up. Skye grabs his shirt right above his belt, she messes a bit with the perfect ensambe, leaves the trace of her sleeping all over the fabric. He will smell of her. He normally does, these days. It fills her with inexplicable pride and – yes, why not come out and say it – happiness.

"Skye?" he calls again, pressing his fingertips under her ear, brushing her hair aside.

She's pretty alert, anyway, she's just messing with him. She thinks it will do him some good. He needs to loosen up a bit more. Lucky him, she's here to help him with that.

Or maybe he doesn't need help because next thing Skye knows he's sort of scooping her in his arms and catching her lips with his, rather dramatically and freaking perfect. The angle is all wrong and uncomfortable but the way he's opening her mouth under his, the way he always likes to break his own rules but won't admit it. The kiss is a long one, with obvious disregard to possible witnesses.

Skye props herself on the couch, half her body draped over Coulson's, and trying to get a better access her right hand lands, awkwardly, on his groin. He lets out a wonderful, annoyed, low noise.

"Well, well, I'm not the only one who's just woken up," Skye tells him, grossly and with a smile and Coulson honest-to-God rolls his eyes like a girl, appalled at not being appalled at her words. She kisses him again, palming his half-hard cock through his pants until she hears the sound, that sounds she knows, that falling sound conceading deceit because he just likes her too damn much.

"You are ruining my reputation, you know," he tells her, tenderly, looking impossibly smitten with her. Other men have looked at Skye enthralled, but not quite like this. She values it most because it's Coulson.

"You have a horrible reputation," she says. "Everybody knows you're a hopeless romantic."

"Everybody?" he asks, drawing the line of her lips with his thumb. "You too?"

Skye nods, and she's pretty sure she looks equally smitten with him right now.

"Go back to sleep," he says, gesturing at his work, "I have to finish reviewing these files."

"Okay. But wake me up later. We'll finish taking care of your... romanticism."

He chuckles and puts his free hand on her head, gently pressing her against his chest again. Skye settles happily, one arm around his middle. He keeps his fingers there, threading her hair distractedly as he reads from the tablet.

 

 

**v.**

The sudden lack of warmth wakes her up. She has the feeling of having woken up before but then the rhythmic noise of the shower lulled her to sleep again. Who is he to take that warmth again, anyway? It's not like she gets that much sleep as it is, this is almost a crime.

Busy, that's who he is. She knows he has to be west early today. Some boring meeting in California or other. There's a lot more bureacreacy these days. Living in the shadows had its advantages.

"Not fair," Skye says, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him towards bed.

"I'll be back tonight," Coulson reassures her, like she's the clingy one. Please. He's the one who can barely spend a whole work day without seeing her and invents all kinds of excuses to pull her out of training or prepping so he can lead her to one of those secret rooms the Playground is full of.

"Yeah but..." Skye whines, pressing her mouth to his back. "Proper goodbye."

"I'm already dressed."

"Be creative."

He's going to mess his clothes anyway, Skye thinks as Coulson pulls her further down the bed until she is on her back and he is crawling between her legs. He wraps her fingers around the back of her knee and Skye inhales deeply, knowing what comes next. She wonders if it's an age thing, the way Coulson enjoys going down on her so much. Young guys are not that selfless. And she wouldn't call Coulson entirely selfless in bed or the way he seems to enjoy himself like this, teasing her through the fabric of her underwear, _generous_.

"That's better," she says, patting his head playfully, and using that praising tone she knows drives him crazy. It works, he groans against her and bites the top of her thigh.

She lets out an infinitely happy sigh.

"You really like sex in the mornings," Coulson says, smugly, like he knows her so well.

She narrows her eyes at him. "And you are not a very smart boyfriend, are you."

"What do you mean?"

She grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him up, drawing him to her mouth. The kiss is deep and early morning dirty. Coulson moans when she tugs at his tie to draw him further into it.

"I really like it at any time of the day, when it's you," Skye tells him and fair enough, they are not sappy people, the arching eyebrow is justified, and she looks away for a moment, embarrassed, but Coulson just looks pleased.

"Lie back," he says, taking his position between her legs again, "and let me finish. I have a plane to catch."

Skye doesn't mind so much, being woken up for this.

 

 

**i.**

She gives his shoulder a gentle shake with her free hand but he doesn't wake up. She tries again, harder this time.

"I'm here, I'm here," he mutters, like he knows of Skye's deepest fear.

He tries to push himself against the wall and winces.

"Don't fall asleep on me, boss, okay?"

Coulson smiles at her and nods, but without much conviction.

Skye checks the rushed field dressing she applied. She hopes his knowledge is enough; she's learned the basics from Simmons and Trip has taught her to work under pressure. She presses her hand to his side again. Coulson whines. It's not a pretty sound. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't see the third shooter," he says. "I'm not great back up."

"Yeah, I'm going to have to make you clock some time in the shooting range with me if you are going to be my partner."

"Sounds like an order."

"My mission," she points out.

And it had been a success, except for the part where it might just get Coulson killed.

"Maybe I should stick to the office, leave the field work for you youngsters."

"Never," she says, sharply, cutting through his self-pity. "We need you out here with us, Director."

He throws his head back for a moment. Skye watches his adam's apple go up and down as he swallows with difficulty. She looks around. She's not worried anymore, they took care of the threat, and they've hid well in case someone else comes before the team does. She's worried about him, of course, but she thought she'd be more anxious in this situation – worst case scenario but she has been training for this. She feels calm and she feels guilty.

"I'm sorry," she says. "It was my fault."

She knows how futile contesting that point is. That Phil Weight of the World on My Shoulders Coulson will never ever let her win this argument.

"I was slow," he replies, on cue.

"My mission. My responsibility. So shut up." Skye wipes the sweat from her brow and it comes out with red from Coulson's blood, her hands a mess. "Damnit, I should have made us wear flask vests."

"Mobility and stealthiness, remember?" he replies, recalling her words on the briefing. "I agreed with that call. It was the thing to do. You're good."

He actually means it, which is horrific, because he has had a bullet go through him for all of Skye's skills. She is touched that he means it, though.

"Thanks," she says.

"No, it's true," Coulson repeats, touching his fingers to Skye's hand, the hand pressing on his wound. "You're good. _You're so good_."

The loss of blood and the pain must be making him lightheaded but that touch, and the way he is speaking to her, it seems almost deliberate. Almost _important_. He means it. He admires her. 

Then another wave of pain goes through his body and Coulson grimaces and closes his eyes.

"Hey, hey. No falling asleep," Skye tells him. "You promised."

He opens his eyes again, obedient.

"Did I? I don't remember. When's the extraction team coming?"

"Six minutes," she says, applying more pressure to the wound.

"That's a long time," Coulson comments. "You'll have to keep me awake."

"Okay. How?"

"Your mission," he throws back at her. "I guess you'll have to talk to me."

"Okay," she says. "You never asked me what I did those months I was on my own."

"I didn't want to ask. Didn't want to make you feel like you owed it to me, to us."

"I bought a van."

"Another van?"

"Another one. Blue again."

"What is it with you and vans?"

They keep on talking for the next six minutes.

Coulson doesn't fall asleep.

 

 

**ii.**

She only really notices because he's sweating. She awakens to his body heat. More than usual. More than the familiarity they have already arrived at. Something out if this new ordinary makes her react.

She's stunned by the image of his face in the darkness, twisted not in pain but in some kind of profound and quiet grief. He is quiet, terrifyingly so. Skye is stunned by the image but her hands react quickly, finding Coulson's shoulders, squeezing lightly.

He turns on his pillow, looking directly at Skye, awake in a moment. He's breathing heavily – almost panting – and the muscles of his neck look tense.

"What?" he asks, confused.

Skye pulls back a bit.

"You looked like – you didn't seem to be having a great time."

Coulson sits up, noticing the sweat on his forehead, drops of it, and wiping it off with the back of his hand. Skye watches his gestures like he is a stranger, someone infinitely unknown and infinitely precious.

"Maybe I shouldn't have –"

"No, thank you," Coulson says and tries, god he tries. 

He places his hand over hers for a moment and then pulls away, not looking at her.

Maybe he's embarrassed, she thinks.

They've been sharing a bed only for a couple of months and Skye is still unsure how to comfort him when he hurts. With Miles comfort had been the point of it all at first, they hooked up so they could comfort each other when they were lost. When Coulson is lost he is still Coulson, and she doesn't know how far – how deep – she can intrude into his pain. She wants things for Coulson, a lot of big and joyful things, but she's not sure she will be able to give them to him, or how.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Hey," she calls, cupping his chin with one hand. "We're people with nightmares, we both knew that going in."

That seems to be a bit better. He leans into the touch, tilting his head and pressing his cheek against Skye's fingers.

She doesn't wonder that he is having a nightmare tonight or why. The last couple of days have been trying for the Director of SHIELD but more than that they have been trying for Phil Coulson.

"I'm fine," he says, his expression carefully concealed again, just like his heart. 

"Was it about your father?" Skye asks, because she can read both expression and heart. His face. He nods with difficulty. "General Talbot's in-depth investigation about the Director of SHIELD's past. Yeah. I figured having all that brought to the public light... I know you said it wasn't affecting you but–"

"It's affecting me."

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"Your boss told you it wasn't affecting him. You're my partner, Skye. I want you to know what's going on with me."

He sounds resolved.

Skye puts her hand to his chest, his t-shirt damp and clinging to his skin. She presses her palm along the line of his scar, she knows Coulson likes the gesture, has liked it from the beginning, as a reminder of having been brought together.

"What was the nightmare?" she asks.

"I was dreaming about the last time I saw him alive." He sounds stunned, like he hasn't thought about that for a long time, maybe even years. Fuck Talbot and the FBI digging this up for him. To discredit him. Skye just feels angry and protective.

"Where were you?"

"The lawn of my old house," he replies. A little frown on his brow, but not the bad kind. "There was a red swingset but it's funny because I don't remember ever using it."

"Did you say goodbye to him? That day. Did you get the chance?"

They have only talked about this in the most abstract terms. And still she probably knows more details than Coulson is entirely comfortable with, she has a responsibility to the story.

"Yeah, I said goodbye. I was pretty sappy kid at that age, I had to kiss my dad goodbye every morning."

Skye smiles, kissing his shoulder for a moment, imagining him as a kid, and wanting, wanting so many things for him it almost hurts.

He seems to respond well to that – his hand coming to rest, almost shyly, on her knee – but then his gaze darkens.

"You're not your father. No matter what the tv says. It doesn't work like that. I should know."

"No," Coulson agrees. "But some days I feel guilty because I still miss him."

"It's okay," she says.

He drops his head and lets Skye runs her fingers through his hair, untangle the damp locks for him, scrape her fingernails across his nape until his skin sings with the touch.

"I don't want to talk," he says. "Can we – can we go back to sleep?"

"Of course."

"I'll tell you everything tomorrow, I promise. I just need–"

Skye cuts him off; her fingers on his lips and then a kiss. 

"Tomorrow," she repeats, massaging his shoulders a bit, trying to get him to relax, if he really wants to go back to sleep.

Coulson nods, and lets his body be maneuvered into bed again.

She puts her arms around him as he lies back on the matress. He stretches, fitting into her, pressing his back against her chest.

She holds him and comforts him and guards his sleep.

She says: "Remember I'm here if you need me."


End file.
